In the Face of Death
by TheFisherKitty
Summary: When Harry Potter is murdered, Auror Draco Malfoy is assigned to investigate, and finds himself on the trail of a darkness he cannot defeat without overcoming his own demons first. Rated M, adult concepts and language, character death. No flames, please.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter nor anything affiliated with it; if you recognize it, it isn't mine.**

**Rating: M (language) (adult themes)**

**WARNING: CHARACTER DEATH in this chapter, depictions of alcoholism, imagery that some may find disturbing.  
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**Spoilers: I might refer to content from the books; be forewarned.  
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**Author's Note: This is a very dark fic. I am serious about the warnings, people! If you think this fic is not for you, then by all means skip it, but if you choose to read please do not flame. And feel free to enjoy it if it's up your alley!  
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><p><strong>In the Face of Death<br>**

**_Chapter 1: Ashes  
><em>**

Draco Malfoy glared at the line of Ministry workers waiting to flush themselves in through the toilets at the employee entrance, smirking in satisfaction as they parted before him. There were some perks to being an Unspeakable, after all, and one of them was that people didn't often risk standing in his way. If he happened to be running twenty minutes late, say, as the result of a hangover after a weekend bender, he could shave off anywhere from ten to fifteen minutes by cutting in line, and no one was likely to begrudge him the additional five or ten when he made it to his office.

That was not to say he was a particularly high-ranking Unspeakable; he certainly wasn't involved in any of the highly secretive business that went on down in the Department of Mysteries, and never would be. They didn't allow former Death Eaters near any such thing. No, his office was part of the Auror department, and he was attached to the Auror division. His status as an Unspeakable was granted as a result of the type of security clearance needed for his particular type of work, an assignment as an IIA - an Internal Investigations Auror. It also prevented the head of the Auror department from being able to give orders to him, thereby causing a potential conflict of interests. His job was to police the Aurors themselves, and he was good at it, although it usually didn't amount to much more than background checks or sorting out whether an Auror was taking advantage of his or her position to get away with anything from fines over improper handling of magical transportation to performing inappropriate hexes on a spouse. Which essentially none of the Aurors currently in house would even think of doing; bunch of fucking Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs, most of them.

Work was slow, these days. Potter ran a tight ship, much as Malfoy hated to admit it, and the bulk of his days were spent running background checks on new Ministry employees. He further hated to admit that the level of trust required to even consider him for this job was practically a gift in light of his history, a gift granted him by Harry Potter, no less, and that he would in all likelihood never do better. He was eternally aware of the glass ceiling caused by his past that would forever prevent his advancement to any position of consequence. It could be worse though. At least he had a job that allowed him to make use of his secretive tendencies and natural cunning. It had been made repeatedly and abundantly clear on multiple occasions after the war that the majority of people believed he was less than deserving of a job cleaning up puffskein excrement at a third-rate pet shop where the puffskeins were entirely feral and fond of biting.

Nonetheless, he was thorough in his work, and he set a high standard, and while absolutely none of the Aurors liked him both because it was his job to investigate them if it came to that and because he was once a Death Eater, albeit still virtually a child at the time, he didn't particularly feel that he needed to be liked in order to do his job.

He did, however, need to be respected, and for that reason, when his wife left him only a handful of months ago upon realizing he would never achieve real power, the fact that the divorce had been quietly and hastily finalized in a way that left him with very little of the very little that remained once the Ministry had seized his family's assets was a fact known to few. Astoria's secrecy in the matter was a part of the settlement, so while she had walked away with the remains of the Malfoy fortune, leaving him with a modest row home that had not so much as a single house elf, and a vault at Gringott's the contents of which after paying various people off to keep their mouths shut ensured he would have to work for the rest of his life, and work very hard indeed, at least the papers knew nothing of it. As far as they knew, the couple had parted ways amicably after citing irreconcilable differences and that had ended the matter. After all, when no one would talk, there was nothing to write.

And if, on some nights, the prospect of being alone became so unbearable that he drank until the next thing he knew the weekend had gone, he had three days' worth of stubble on his face, was laying in his own vomit, and was looking at being just a bit late to work yet again, well, the papers didn't need to know that either.

So it was that Draco Malfoy, with a searing headache and a cottony dry feeling in his bad-tasting mouth, but at least cleansed of vomit and stubble, stepped into the toilet, flushed it, and popped out from a fireplace in the Ministry Atrium a moment later. People scurried away from his ill-tempered glare here, as well, allowing him to catch the next lift. Aurors of his class were occasionally tapped to run investigations within the larger framework of the Ministry itself, after all. His momentary pleasure at this was wiped away completely when none other than Harry Potter boarded the lift with him.

"You're late," the dark-haired head of the Auror department chastised him.

"Only by ten minutes, Potter," Malfoy snapped. "Besides, I don't report to you. Not your fuckin' business."

Harry's mouth twitched up slightly at the corner, not the reaction Malfoy had expected.

"I was waiting."

"We didn't have a meeting scheduled this morning," Malfoy replied, his brow furrowing in confusion, an unasked question buried in his statement.

"Mind coming round for dinner tonight?" Harry asked. "Ginny would enjoy seeing you again."

"Your wife would enjoy nothing of the sort, and you know it," Malfoy growled, casting Harry a sidewise glare as a thought occurred to him. "If you're trying to stage some kind of intervention..."

"Why, do you need one?" Harry asked with a thoughtful glance and a half-smile.

"I absolutely don't," Malfoy snapped. "And again, not your fuckin' business. Now, why don't you get to the point?"

"This is off the record… for now," Harry said at last. "I've been working on a case that might be getting transferred to you sometime in the near future. I don't want to get into too many details here. So, dinner?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes and growled his assent. Going to dinner at Potter's home was, in truth, the last thing he wanted to do next to what he'd heard of Muggle dentistry, but he hardly had a choice if Potter was going to pull this the-walls-have-ears shit. The head of the Aurors, The Chosen One, The Boy Who Bloody Lived, was not someone whom he could afford to alienate, especially given that the insufferable prick had gotten him his job. Plainly, simply, he both owed Potter, and needed him, bugger it all.

"Good enough. Here are the details," Harry stated cheerily as he slipped Malfoy a folded note, stepping from the lift and hurrying ahead to the Aurors' offices.

Malfoy stuffed the note in his pocket without reading it, made his way to his own office, and settled at his desk. He didn't give a second thought to the little piece of paper as he pulled the first file out of a stack of new cases that were undoubtedly complete shit: a complaint that a lower-level Obliviator had taken advantage of his position to rob a neighbor of her memories regarding a hexed pet chicken. Clearly, as the woman remembered enough to make the complaint, the man either wasn't a very good Obliviator or hadn't done it to begin with. Malfoy was inclined to believe the latter, but that still left the matter of the chicken…

And so the day passed in miserable fucking ignominy, but at least he was paid enough for his shame that he could buy copious amounts of liquor if needed. And it was _always _needed.

Looking at the clock, he cursed as he realized he ought to have left work an hour and a half earlier, and then he remembered the note. He fished it from his pocket, half hoping that he'd missed the dinner, but luck wasn't with him. Dinner was slated for seven-thirty, and if he hurried he would just make the seven o'clock Portkey to Godric's Hollow as the note advised, with directions to an Apparition point near their home outside of town noted afterward.

Malfoy frowned as he scanned further down the note. There was a hastily scrawled postscript that hadn't been immediately evident as it was under the last fold of the note.

_There may be a leak in the Department. Don't know who to trust. Tell no one of our plans._

Bloody hell, if that was Potter's idea of discretion… Malfoy read the note again. Not only was Potter's missive worded in a way that all but spelled out the situation to anyone Potter couldn't trust, it simultaneously managed to tell Malfoy absolutely nothing. Well, the bit about a leak in the Auror Office was fairly clear, but what exactly that meant in terms of outside involvement could not have been murkier. The leak, if indeed there was one, could be reporting to anyone from the press to Slytherin's ghost, for all Malfoy knew.

What was plain, yet all the more mysterious, was the fact that while Potter apparently couldn't decide who to trust in his own office, he'd apparently decided to play spin-the-wand and had somehow managed to land on Malfoy. Malfoy was not a person people trusted with much of anything, both by his personal nature and that of his job. Moreover, he was used to not being trusted. Indeed, if asked, anyone but this supposed leak (if there was one) would probably peg him for it, and the leak would pin it on him anyway. That Potter would choose him of all people had to have more to do with his position than anything, Malfoy decided. It was only for professional reasons that Harry Potter could have chosen to trust him. Or perhaps it was because he might as well have owed Potter his fucking soul.

Nonetheless, Malfoy found that his steps were hurried as he rushed to meet the Portkey, joining a small clutch of wizard-folk who were gathered around a ratty, moth-eaten sweater and casting furtive glances about as they waited for departure. No more than a minute after he'd grabbed hold, the familiar sensation of being tugged by the gut gripped him, and moments later, he was making an ungainly landing in the village of Godric's Hollow. While he'd long since gotten past the point where a Portkey would dump him unceremoniously on the ground, he had yet to fully master the grace with which some wizards descended. Or perhaps it was the lingering hangover that was to blame.

Malfoy glanced around as the other arriving witches and wizards headed for their respective destinations before reaching into his pocket and once again withdrawing the note. He read through the directions again.

"He can't possibly expect me to Apparate somewhere I've never been," he grumbled as he looked over the looping scrawl on the parchment.

More likely, Harry had intended Malfoy to walk there, taking note of the apparition point on the way for ease of use in the future. Nonetheless, it was possible - if he focused very hard on wanting to be at the apparition point near the Potter home, he should be able to make it happen. It was risky, however, as it is very difficult to concentrate on being somewhere one has never been. He had nearly resigned himself to walking when the urgent postscript caught his eye yet again.

"Fuck it," he huffed, concentrating on his desire to apparate to Harry's home.

The familiar sensations of compression and tearing away from reality gripped him momentarily, and hardly a second later he was unceremoniously spit out at the other end. He stumbled slightly, for apparition under less than ideal circumstances generally went a bit rougher, but he was nonetheless trained as an Auror and had managed the action without splinching himself.

When he glanced up from his self-inspection, however, his heart caught in his throat. He was only a short walk from a quaint country cottage that he assumed was Harry Potter's home, seeing as it was smack in the right place, yet it was immediately apparent that something was horribly wrong. Windows all over the structure were shattered, sitting empty of glass, and there were scorch marks and small fires burning all over the place. The front door was blasted off its hinges and lay smoldering in the front yard, and there was not a light to be seen within.

Those observations were the result of training, and were made with little thought, for they were secondary to the first thing he'd noticed, which had seemed to still his heart in his chest.

There, above the battered, burning house, the Dark Mark hung in the night sky.

The attack had been recent, Malfoy could tell that much. The fires burning were spreading rather than dying down, for one thing. No one had yet reported a sighting of the Dark Mark, for another; there would have been chaos at the Ministry had that been the case. No, the persons responsible had most likely attacked just after dusk, after lying in wait for their probable target to arrive home, and that meant some very fucking bad things indeed.

Potter would have been home for the attack.

Malfoy had probably missed the attackers by a matter of minutes.

If, in fact, he had missed them.

These unfortunate thoughts plowed through Malfoy's head in rapid succession, and with the last he dashed from the road where he'd stood and took cover behind some bushes. He'd do no one any good getting his bloody arse cursed off by standing about in the open.

He had to contact the Ministry.

Firing off a Patronus here, in the dark, with unknown assailants possibly still lurking nearby was not a smart move, but it was the appropriate one. It would summon aid the fastest. Malfoy drew his wand and uttered the incantation as discreetly as he could, no easy feat considering the difficulty of the magic and his increasingly negative state of mind. The harshly whispered incantation came out sounding almost like a violent sneeze as he held onto the happy thought that at least there were no dementors present. At least, he didn't think there were…

The silvery wisp that erupted from his wand coalesced into the shape of a dragon, albeit a small one; it was hardly bigger than a large dog. He gave it the message he needed delivered, turning to observe the house as it departed as a speeding ball of light.

xxxxx

Neville Longbottom manned the Auror Office, having drawn night desk duty during this scheduling rotation. As a higher ranking Auror he had the right to abstain from the night desk draw, but he had good-Gryffindor-naturedly refused to do so, even if it meant cancelling a date. He felt it would be unfair to use his privilege of rank in such a way, and besides, he didn't mind desk duty. Most of the Floo calls that came in only needed to be sorted for action in the morning, and those that didn't typically only involved waking the necessary people, and were rare at that.

He nearly fell from his chair when the Patronus formed before him. He knew whose it was immediately, even before it began to speak; the Aurors all knew each others' Patronus forms so they could be recognized in case of emergency, and a dragon was an extremely uncommon form for one to take. This one, Neville recognized as a Hebridean Black despite the whispish milky color of the Patronus itself. Then it spoke in Malfoy's voice, and its words were the stuff of nightmares.

"Dark Mark sighted over Potter residence. Auror Malfoy on site, entering residence alone. Requesting backup. Wands out."

It repeated its message again before it vanished, as it had no doubt been instructed, or perhaps Malfoy had simply said everything twice before he dispatched it. In any case, by the time it was gone, Neville already had his fist in the Floo pot. It was time to wake the other Aurors… and the Minister. Bloody hell, it was time to wake _everybody._

xxxxx_  
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He'd have to go in, he realized. Harry Potter had been home. That Harry Potter was not in sight, possibly attempting to disarm anything that moved, told Malfoy that one of three possibilities was in play: Potter was either inside and injured, gone by his own will or someone else's… or he was dead.

Malfoy found that he was distinctly dreading that last possibility. Harry Potter was the hero of the wizarding world, and not for nothing. Though he had never rallied to Potter's cause, had in fact hated him in school, and didn't much like him even now, the fact was that Potter was something of a linchpin in the structure of the post-war rebuilding of just about everything. He was a crucial part a society that Malfoy, for want of a better term, loved, and Malfoy did not enjoy entertaining the notion of the kind of upset that would be wrought with his loss.

Breaking from cover, he dashed across the road and sought cover there, creeping almost silently toward the house. He was ever-mindful of the possibility of stumbling upon someone sneaking stealthily just as he was, but he encountered no one.

He held his wand aloft as he entered, pointing it forward rather than upright, ready for an attack that did not come. The darkened structure was lit on the bottom level only by the faintest glow from the fires burning above. As Malfoy stepped forward, his foot collided with something that seemed soft, yet heavy and unyielding. Fighting back a sick sensation that arose within him, he whispered, "_Lumos._"

The illumination from his wand cast the still features of Harry Potter into sharp relief, his eyes wide and staring in death.

Malfoy swallowed roughly, a curse escaping his lips as he steadied his wand hand. There was nothing he could do for Potter now… but Potter had a family, didn't he? Yes, he'd spoken of the wife that morning; Ginny. He was married to the youngest Weasley and had a small son, or so Malfoy seemed to recall.

He stepped over Harry, feeling like hell as he did, but the body was blocking the doorway. Probably, Malfoy thought, he'd caught it when they'd blasted the door open, and never even knew what hit him. Possibly, he'd even thought it was Malfoy arriving early when he'd gone to the door in the first place, a notion that filled the blond man with a cold bitterness that reached his very core.

Too many people had already died because of him.

Pushing the thought away, he focused on his surroundings. He swept through the ground floor systematically, but found no one until he went upstairs.

Parts of the roof were blown away, or burning, and the air was veiled with smoke, though in that respect the holes in the roof were actually helping. Malfoy held part of his coat over his nose and mouth as he moved forward, checking what looked to be the nursery first. What mother wouldn't go there first?

This door, too, was blasted from its hinges, and he was reminded eerily of the stories he'd heard about the night Voldemort was defeated the first time. Of course, those stories varied widely; Malfoy doubted that very many people beyond those closest to Potter knew the true version of the tale, and Malfoy was certainly not amongst those trusted few. If the consistent points of what he'd heard held true, however, there would be a dead mother and an orphaned child waiting for him.

And there she was on the floor, her red hair spread out around her head like a bloodied halo, and oh yes, there was blood, shining in the light of his wand. It was the red hair that did it; he was swamped by memories of her at Hogwarts so many years ago, of those occasions when he had encountered her, most of which had ended in him receiving a hex from her wand. He felt suddenly as though he could not breathe, though he couldn't say why, although no matter how much he tried to blame it on the smoke he knew that wasn't it. No, it was her; something about seeing her lying there, still as the grave, made his heart feel as though it, too, had died.

Just as he had regained his senses enough to realize that he saw no child anywhere, alive or dead, Ginny gave a great wracking cough that startled him so badly he jumped, and actually screamed very abruptly. It was one thing to rely on one's Auror training to muster the courage required to enter a house with the Dark Mark over it, but there was no training in the Auror curriculum that kept one from being thrown when someone who seemed dead turned out not to be.

A second cough brought his focus back to him. She was alive, but judging from the blood each cough had brought up, she wouldn't stay that way for long. He wouldn't be able to wait for backup to arrive; she would need to be side-along apparated to St. Mungo's immediately if there was to be any chance of saving her. Fortunately, Auror training _did _cover side-along apparition of the critically injured. As he knelt beside her and began to gather her to him as carefully as he could manage, one word slipped from her lips as hardly more than another shallow breath.

"James…"

Malfoy's brow furrowed but only for an instant as he realized James must be the son he'd vaguely recalled earlier. Her hand was extended unmoving along the floor, reaching almost under the crib, and on impulse he looked underneath. The point of his wand illuminated a small boy, hardly more than an infant and not quite fully a toddler. The boy was painfully still and for a heartbreaking moment, he thought the child, too, might be dead… but then he saw the boy's sides move with breath.

He reached under the crib, pulling the boy out as gently as possible, which was far less gently than he felt was appropriate, but one could only be so picky given the circumstances. A cursory glance led him to believe the child had been Stunned, albeit very lightly - he doubted a child so small would have survived a Stunner at full strength. That was odd, for who would cast a stunning spell at only partial strength…?

_His mother, _Malfoy realized as he spotted a wand on the floor. Ginny Weasley - no, Ginny Potter - had Stunned her own son and hidden him. By the look of things, she'd managed it only just in time.

There was no question that they needed medical attention immediately. He cast his Patronus again, leaving it behind with a message for whomever would next arrive on scene – Longbottom, most likely, as the prat had taken night desk duty. Gathering both mother and child in a firm hold, Malfoy disapparated with them as the first mistings of Aguamenti charms began to rain on the burning house from the wands of other Aurors arriving too late.

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><p><strong>AN: That's the first chapter; sad, I know. But if you liked it, please review and let me know! Again, no flames, please; if you choose not to continue reading, that is okay by me.  
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	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter nor anything affiliated with it; if you recognize it, it isn't mine.**

**Rating: M (language) (adult themes)**

**WARNING: This chapter contains non-graphic discussion of a miscarriage.  
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**Spoilers: I might refer to content from the books; be forewarned.  
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**Author's Note: This is a very dark fic. I am serious about the warnings, people! If you think this fic is not for you, then by all means skip it, but if you choose to read please do not flame. And feel free to enjoy it if it's up your alley!  
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><p><strong>In the Face of Death<br>**

**_Chapter 2: Blood Loss  
><em>**

The first Aurors to respond to Draco Malfoy's summons via Neville Longbottom, including Neville himself, who had left the first Auror of suitably low rank as his relief, were met with the horrifying sight of Harry Potter's house ablaze and in pieces. Many of them had been there for dinner, either on business or socially, and for a few heartbeats they were frozen as they tried to comprehend the spectacle before them. Some of the lesser ranked Aurors, who had liked and respected Harry but had not known him as well, had the presence of mind to begin raining Aguamenti charms on the fires before they could spread.

Adding to the improbability of the lurid scene was the dragon Patronus, which Neville had already seen once that night, that waited for them on the front step of the house as though guarding it. The Patronus seemed almost to sense Neville and recognize him, as it was to Neville that it turned when it delivered the terrible news.

"Mrs. Potter found, critically injured," Malfoy's voice echoed from the Patronus. "Have taken Mrs. Potter and son to St. Mungo's for emergency treatment."

A slight hesitation, then, the words Neville dreaded most:

"Harry Potter is dead."

For a moment, everything around Neville seemed to slow down incredibly, as if time wanted to cease moving forward as much as he did himself. Everyone around him stood still in shock, one Auror's Aguamenti charm drifting astray and raining through the Patronus as it vaporized. But it had been the tremor in Malfoy's voice as the Patronus delivered the final part of the message that made it real for Auror Longbottom, who finally took action. Neville stepped onto the porch where the illusory beast had sat, bringing his lighted wand to bear.

The sight before him only served to confirm the worst; the body lay flat on its back, next to a dropped wand, broken, twisted glasses still perched, though askew, on the nose. The wand, holly with a phoenix-feather core, was one Neville knew well. He bit his lip and closed his eyes at the pain that shot through him at the sight of a dead friend, one he had not expected to lose, at least, not like this. Never like this. He turned away, struggling to collect himself as a new realization dawned: he was the ranking Auror on the scene, and it was up to him to take charge of the brewing chaos.

"You," he barked at a random Auror with a greater sense of command than he felt. "Get someone out here to document the scene, and then get that bloody Mark down before someone else comes along and takes a bloody picture of it. I do not want to see it in the paper tomorrow without permission of the Ministry."

He made ready to cast a patronus of his own. The Minister would need to be updated. And someone, some unfortunate someone, was going to have to tell Ron Weasley.

xxxxx

Upon arrival at St. Mungo's, Ginny and James Potter were snatched up in a swift whirlwind of methodically medical chaos; the baby was swept away to a unit designed specifically for infants as a Healer took careful note of Malfoy's suspicion that he'd been rather delicately Stunned to save his life, while Ginny was rushed to the ward for cases of critical traumatic spell damage. Ginny was finally stabilized, but it had taken two hours of emergency treatment to do it.

During that time, Malfoy had waited at the hospital. He had received word that Aurors were on scene; he had been right in thinking that they had arrived just as he left. It would not do now to return to the scene of the crime. Casting the Dark Mark was a skill known to few, most of whom were either imprisoned in Azkaban or no longer living, and he was one of those few who remained at large. He would have to be debriefed later, he supposed; at any rate, someone would be coming, though he didn't know who that someone would be, and it was best that he wait where he was, where people knew to look for him, and where he was in a position to receive pertinent information about the surviving victims of the crime.

As it happened, the person who arrived to take his statement was none other than Kingsley Shacklebolt, the current Minister of Magic. The man appeared in the hallway where he waited, sweeping toward him with both the elegant grace and determined stride that had made him a shoe-in for Minister after the war, and possibly the best Minister there had been in Malfoy's recollection. Without a word, he rose from his seat and fell in step with the distinguished man.

"Auror Malfoy," Kingsley greeted him perfunctorily as he swept them both aside into an empty room and closed the door, casting an Imperturbable charm for good measure and leaving his assistant and personal guard behind. If he held any grievance with the Malfoy name, his professional tone masked it well, though it didn't mask the air of distress that now hung about the man. "Report."

"Upon arriving at the Potter residence at approximately four minutes past seven in the evening, I observed the Dark Mark above the dwelling. I sent for backup and entered the residence, whereupon I discovered that… that Potter had been killed," he stated concisely, faltering only on the last point.

"Merlin's bones, it's true?" Shacklebolt whispered. "There was no reason to disbelieve the reports, but… I had hoped."

"Yes, sir," he replied. "Longbottom's running the scene?"

The Minister nodded. "Continue, please."

"Further search of the residence revealed Weas- rather, Mrs. Potter, in a critically injured state, with her son hidden beneath the crib. I apparated both of them here immediately. There was nothing to be done for Potter."

Kingsley nodded gravely. "Anything else?"

"The Healers have yet to conclude their examinations and have only reported that James is in stable condition, and Mrs. Potter is critical. There has been no further word as yet. They estimate, from the nature of her injuries, that I must have only just missed the attacker or attackers. They do not believe she could have lasted another ten minutes in her condition from when I brought her here, or longer than twenty minutes since the attack, at most. Since it took me approximately half that to summon backup, enter the house, and locate her and James…"

"You were fortunate not to have apparated into the thick of it," Kingsley finished, though more charitably than Malfoy would have done.

"Or unfortunate not to arrive in time to help Potter, sir," he replied.

"Reports from on scene suggest that you would have had to arrive on scene prior to your Portkey's arrival in Godric's Hollow," Kingsley offered, not unkindly. "It was not possible."

"Thank you, sir. There is… something else," Malfoy said, and brought the note forward, holding it out to the Minister. Kingsley read the note, his features contorting in barely-contained anger. "I doubt it could be coincidence that he brought this to my attention and was killed the very same day."

"Harry suspected one of our own is involved? Who?" he asked, his voice steady though he was visibly shaken.

"He didn't get the chance to say. I expect that's why he invited me to dinner."

Shacklebolt pressed his lips together firmly, nodding as though he'd just made a decision.

"Auror Malfoy," he addressed Malfoy formally. "This case involves the death of one of our own, and the possible corruption and involvement of another in the ranks of the trusted. This case falls uniquely within the purview of the office of the Internal Investigations Auror. It is your case, and you will have every possible resource at your disposal, but you will bring it to a resolution. There is no other option."

"Yes, sir," Malfoy affirmed.

"Furthermore, as the Auror Office has been left without a Head and under threat of corruption from inside forces, you will temporarily assume those duties until such time as this case is concluded. Orders to that effect will be sent down to the Auror Office immediately. Your badge, please."

Malfoy produced his badge from his pocket; Kingsley tapped it with his wand, and the new title _Head Auror _rippled into existence where the old one had been.

"If there is a traitor to be found, you will find him. In the meantime, the Weasley family has been notified, and I would like you to wait here to receive them. Am I understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good," Kingsley growled as he handed the note back to Malfoy. "I'll make the announcement at dawn. There will be unrest, so have your house in order by then. And Malfoy… be careful whom you choose to trust."

"Sir," Malfoy said by way of parting as the Minister reversed the charm and swept from the room with the same dignity with which he had entered.

Malfoy's shoulders slumped. He didn't know what was more daunting: the fact that he had just been made head of the Auror Office in the wake of Harry Potter's murder, with the intent of finding both a murderer and, if there was one, a mole… or the fact that he was about to face the Weasley clan with the news that their son-in-law and friend was dead, and their daughter and sister was now clinging to life.

xxxxx

The first Weasley to arrive was Ron, ashen-faced as he strode down the hall. He spotted Malfoy straight away, and hurried toward him.

"Where's my sister?" he asked, his voice a rough whisper. "What are you doing here? Where's Harry?"

"What do you know, Weasley?" Malfoy asked, narrowing his eyes. Some of those questions should already have been answered, but clearly had not been.

"Neville's Patronus showed up at my flat and told me Ginny was here," he replied. "Why? Are you trying to say Harry did something to her? You're investigating, is that it? Well he wouldn't, okay?"

Clarity. Shacklebolt would have had the Weasley _parents _notified, but of course, Longbottom would have sent for Ron before that. And as per protocol, he wouldn't have told Ron Harry had been killed until notifications had been officially made and the scene had been released, because Ron might have shown up at the scene, and what a scene _that _would have been.

By the dubious virtue of his sudden promotion, meaning he was Weasley's boss, and the fact that he was now faced with the angry redhead, Malfoy realized the task of delivering that notification was now his.

"Weasley, sit down," Malfoy instructed, hoping against the odds that Weasley would make it easy for him. Naturally, Ron was going to do no such thing.

"I will _not _bloody sit down until I've seen my sister and you tell me what's going on!" he barked, gripping the front of Malfoy's shirt threateningly in his fist. "Now fucking tell me, ferret!"

"Your sister was badly injured in an attack at her home. She's in treatment, and there has been no word but that she hasn't died yet."

If possible, Ron's face drained of color ever further, giving him a waxy look as he stared at Malfoy with eyes wideand round as saucers.

"Harry should be here," he said shakily as the implications of his friend's absence began to sink in. "If Ginny's hurt, Harry should be here. Why isn't he?"

Malfoy had sized Ron up in that moment. He could see the other man's desperation, his need to be told a lie and have it somehow be true. Malfoy would be doing him no favors in trying to cushion the blow.

"Weasley… Potter was killed in the attack."

The hand gripping his shirt shifted, no longer angrily pulling against him, but rather leaning on him as Ron gave a shallow, anguished cry and sagged where he stood.

"I'm sorry," Malfoy added, and instantly knew it was the wrong thing to say; they both knew it was a hollow platitude even if he truly did regret Potter's death, which Weasley would hardly believe anyway. Ron's face reddened, becoming a mask of unbridled fury that Malfoy recognized a hundred times over from their days at school. No longer, though, was Ronald Weasley a young boy angered by a schoolyard taunt, but a grown man, a fully trained Auror, no less, bereaved, and possessing the advantage of a few inches of height and a not-inconsiderable amount of broad-shouldered bulk.

Ron Weasley threw one punch, two, and then all but threw Malfoy to the floor, straddling him and gripping his shirtfront in both hands, shaking him roughly.

"Don't you dare say he's dead!" Ron bellowed insensibly. "Don't you dare…"

It was a bitter pill for anyone to swallow. Even still, Malfoy might have been inclined to draw his wand and let Ron have it; he wasn't a fucking saint. But something warm and wet splattered on his face, and he realized that Weasley was crying, his fit of rage having finally given way to a much deeper hurt.

"Pull yourself together Weasley. You're an Auror, for fuck's sake," Malfoy hissed. "Potter's beyond us all; it's your sister you need to be thinking about now."

It wasn't that he was being unkind. If Ron needed to be angry, he could be angry, but Malfoy still needed him to keep it together and do his job. The reality was that in light of Potter's death and the note he'd given Malfoy, there were few, precious few, whom Malfoy could be certain were not involved. Weasley was one of those few, and the Aurors couldn't afford to lose him now.

Ron nodded, swiping tears away with hurried embarrassment, apparently unaware that he was still sitting on Malfoy.

"What's going on here?" a male voice asked suddenly. Malfoy looked beyond Ron to see Arthur Weasley, whom he recognized from the Ministry, with a motherly-looking witch he recognized only vaguely as Ron's mother. Ron didn't look up, obviously knowing from hearing his father's voice who was standing behind him.

"He told me Harry's dead," Ron said helplessly. Mrs. Weasley gave a choked sob, a handkerchief clutched in her hand already looking well-used.

"We know, son," his father replied, placing a hand on Ron's shoulder and tugging gently. "Kingsley's already told us. Come on, get up now."

Ron slowly picked himself up, sagging as though broken, and accepted a hug from his father before leaning more heavily on his mother. Arthur extended a hand to help Malfoy up, which he accepted.

"Tell me, Malfoy, what do we know?" Arthur asked him.

"Where is James?" Mrs. Weasley added, looking frightened for her grandson.

"James is downstairs in the children's ward for observation; he was unharmed but for a lightly cast stunning spell. He didn't even have much trouble from smoke inhalation as your daughter hid him under the crib and he was very low to the floor as a result. I've been told he'll be completely fine as soon as the stunner wears off fully."

"Ginny stunned him?" Ron asked quietly.

"I think so, from… the way things looked, in the house," Malfoy replied carefully. "It was probably the first thing she did when the attack began."

"And what of Ginny?" Arthur asked.

"She was badly wounded but survived the apparition to the hospital and they're still treating her. I think we're now at the point where receiving word is no longer guaranteed to mean the worst."

"What did they do to her?" Ron asked.

"We'll have to wait to hear what the healers say," he replied. "I'm not completely certain, myself."

"But you've seen her?" Ron pressed.

"Not since I brought her here."

"You brought her here? Then that…" Ron nodded at Malfoy's shirt, which he only now realized was smudged in various placed with red blood that was drying slightly brownish at the edges. "That blood's hers?"

Malfoy nodded. Mrs. Weasley gasped, Mr. Weasley closed his eyes, and Ron merely looked grim.

And the door to the treatment room swung open, and a healer stepped out, and spoke.

"Family of Ginny Potter? And Auror Malfoy?" she addressed them, and they stepped forward.

"The damage was from the curses she took was extensive and she lost a great deal of blood, but we think we've repaired all of it. She's stable and on blood replenishers now," the healer informed them. "She isn't conscious, and we intend to keep her that way until she's had time to begin healing. Frankly, were she not kept under, the pain alone could be life-threatening, and we don't want her moving around and causing re-injury either. You'll be able to look in on her for a few minutes, one or two at a time, but no more than that. You won't be able to wake her and it could very well benefit her if you talk to her, but we ask that you speak calmly. I'll also need a family member to provide some basic information for our charting; full name, birthdate, and so on."

"I can do that, Molly, while you see her first," Arthur said, taking the parchment that the healer offered even as his wife had begun to reach for it.

"Thank you," she said, a faint smile crossing her weary face for the first time that night.

"I'll need a copy of the report and as detailed a description as you can give of her injuries and the curses used," Malfoy spoke up, addressing the healer.

"I can have a copy of her chart released for the official record if her family signs off," the healer said, Molly and Arthur nodding along in agreement, "but as to the curses used, I'm not completely sure what we're looking at. One, we know was a blasting curse, although it appears to have hit indirectly. The other was some sort of curse that caused severe internal damage. We had to use counter-curses and healing spells with a broader scope, which is part of what took so long to stabilize her. It's some dark magic that I haven't seen, though that is not my field of expertise."

"Write everything down as you know it and I'll figure out the rest," he stated neutrally, but he didn't miss the sidewise glances he got from the Weasleys. He supposed not actually saying something about his background was probably their idea of being subtle.

"There is… one other thing," the healer said tentatively, glancing at the Weasleys. "We found some additional bleeding not directly associated with the curse damage. Upon investigation, we discovered that… Mrs. Potter had been pregnant, and miscarried as a result of the physical trauma she sustained."

Malfoy felt himself pale slightly, but willed his features to remain unchanged, just as the healer was attempting, and failing, to do. The Weasleys looked extremely distressed, and Ron swore softly.

"It was very early on; she likely may not even have known she had conceived, and she should suffer no ill effects physically as a result, but it may trigger an emotional state that could complicate her recovery from her injuries," the healer explained further.

"She didn't know," Molly Weasley said hollowly. "She would have told me."

"Yeah, I would have heard from Harry," Ron added.

"She can't find out," Molly said then, and they all stared at her. "This will break her."

"If she finds out we've lied to her…" Arthur said doubtfully.

"If she finds out, we'll deal with it then," Molly continued, "when she's not clinging to life by the ragged edge."

"No, that won't work," Ron muttered, shaking his head. "There are the hospital charts for one thing, and it'll get put in the case file. I don't see any less than twenty people reading those, and that's at the minimum. It's likely going to be a lot more than that."

"We'll find a way," Molly insisted. "We can at least put it off until she's well. Is there any reason, medically, that she would need to know about this before she's recovered fully?"

"No," the healer said, brow furrowed, "it was more a reaction her body had to the trauma than an injury in itself. There isn't really anything there to treat. But it's against hospital policy to withhold this kind of information from a patient, and I feel it's wrong personally. She has a right to know."

"When knowing won't kill her," Molly insisted. "Arthur?"

Her husband sighed. "It's a terrible decision to have to make. But I have to weigh the fact that my daughter's life hangs in the balance now against the chance that she may take it badly later. I have to agree with my wife."

"I still don't know what we'll do about the Ministry file, though," Ron said with a halfhearted shrug. "Or the hospital chart."

"Have the chart redacted," Malfoy spoke suddenly, and all turned to look as though they had forgotten he was there.

"I can't do that," the healer said, bristling at his quiet yet commanding tone.

"You can and you will. I'm ordering all files related to this investigation restricted to access by approved Aurors only. From this moment, consider the matter as classified at the highest level. No nonessential personnel may see the medical charts. No reference to that particular complication is to be made, and her name will be redacted and replaced with a fake one."

"I like what you're thinking, but you can't do that," Ron pointed out. "Only the head of the Auror office, a higher ranking Unspeakable than you, or the Minister himself has that authority."

Malfoy reached into his pocket and withdrew his Auror badge, his new title emblazoned on it.

"Actually, I can."

"They made you Head Auror?" Ron spluttered. Malfoy looked at him pointedly as the realization sunk in. "Oh Merlin, I've assaulted my boss."

"We'll deal with that at headquarters," Malfoy said dismissively, turning to the healer. "Redact the file, and carry out the other measures I mentioned. We'll send additional security over, and Auror Weasley and I will be back in the morning to check on Mrs. Potter's status. I want to make it clear that I will need to be here when she wakes."

The healer's mouth opened and closed like that of a fish gasping for watery breath; she was clearly angry, even though she snapped her mouth shut and gave a curt nod before returning to the treatment room. Malfoy truly didn't give a fuck if she was angry; he had a job to do, and on top of that, he was unwilling to heap anything more on Harry Potter's widow than was strictly necessary, policy be damned.

"Weasley, come on. We're returning to headquarters; I have to officially take the office, and I want to start putting the satellite offices on alert for the Minister's press release in the morning. Best to be ready early in case something gets leaked."

"Malfoy, wait," Ron said suddenly as Malfoy made to start down the hall. "Five minutes? I want to see my sister in case… just in case. Okay?"

Malfoy gave a small nod, and Ron looked to his parents, who waved him into the room even though they had not yet been. Malfoy turned away again, deciding to give them a moment to themselves, until Mrs. Weasley laid a hand on his arm, drawing his attention.

"Mr. Malfoy," she said softly, her eyes downcast with regret. "Thank you."

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><p><strong>AN: This was rough chapter, even for me. And I expect that the delicate subjects mentioned will come up again, but like now, I'll have a warning at the beginning of the chapter if they do.  
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**Many thanks to those who are giving this story a chance, and my thanks to xxGoldenButterfliesxx, rainbowwizard1, hannah askance, purple389, and Greenstuff for reviewing! I hope you'll all keep reading, and if you like this story please review!  
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	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter nor anything affiliated with it; if you recognize it, it isn't mine.**

**Rating: M (language) (adult themes)**

**WARNING: This chapter contains ongoing references to subjects warned about in previous chapters.  
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**Spoilers: I might refer to content from the books; be forewarned.  
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**Author's Note: I'm so pleased that people are actually enjoying this. I am feeling really passionate about writing this story, so I hope it continues to be worthwhile. =)  
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><p><strong>In the Face of Death<br>**

**_Chapter 3: Unrest  
><em>**

Draco Malfoy and Ron Weasley arrived at the Auror department within the Ministry late into the night. The offices were nearly still as death, the night-desk manned by a nervous low-ranking Auror who knew nothing but where he was meant to send people in the event of their arrival. Everyone else was either home for the night, having missed the summons, or in the field. By morning, the field work at the scene would be done, and this place would be a flurry of activity, and not only because of the case itself; when the Minister made his announcement in the morning, the very framework of wizarding society would be thrown into upheaval. They had to be ready.

"I want all branch offices of magical law enforcement put on full alert for the Minister's announcement in the morning," Malfoy barked as he passed the night desk, knowing the underling wouldn't have any idea what he was talking about. It hardly mattered; the man's rank didn't entitle him to an explanation anyway. "See to it."

"Sir?" the lackey questioned.

"Just do it," Ron said as he followed on Malfoy's heels. Jaansen, he thought the rookie's name was, stared after them with wide eyes, then set about making Floo calls and charming interdepartmental memos to the right people.

They cut through the department swiftly, bypassing Malfoy's office, and heading straight through to the big door at the back. They heard someone else arrive behind them, the individual inquiring at the night desk and being told off by a flustered Jaansen for interrupting important work, and Seamus Finnegan caught up with them a moment later as Malfoy drew his wand and waved it at the door to the head's office.

"Ron," he called out, rushing to join them. "I missed the recall, can you fuckin' believe it? I was with my girlfriend and Neville didn't get me on the Floo. What the bloody hell's gone down?" Finnegan paused to watch Malfoy. "And what the hell is he doing?"

"The office seals itself in the event of the death of the Auror holding that office, for evidentiary purposes," Malfoy replied as the door opened for him.

"Harry was killed tonight," Ron added soberly.

"Oh, bloody Christ," Seamus moaned, and crossed himself, a practice learned from his Catholic Muggle father.

The letters that spelt out Harry's name on the door sank back into the surface, and new ones rose, so that it now read _Draco Malfoy_. The letters were still in the process of etching themselves gold against the black surface of the door when Malfoy pushed through and immediately spotted the letter on the desk that he had expected would be waiting.

"Wait a minute," Finnegan turned to Ron, looking confused. "Why's the office letting him in? You don't expect me to believe he's the head Auror. It's his job to investigate _us_… er… not that we have anything to hide…"

Malfoy sized up Seamus Finnegan. _Gryffindor. _Same year as Potter and himself at Hogwarts… probably trustworthy. So what was he worried about hiding? Ah, yes, the rumor that had circulated the year before, Malfoy guessed.

"I know all about the pig and the firewhiskey, Finnegan, and the office would let me in either way, seeing as I'd still be the Auror assigned the case even if I hadn't been made the department head. Which, incidentally, I have," he said blandly before addressing Ron. "Do you trust him, Weasley?"

"What?" Ron asked, his face blank.

"I'm asking if you trust Finnegan with your life and the lives of those you care about."

'Er… yeah?"

"Thanks for that ringing vote of confidence," Seamus grumbled with a scowl.

"Yeah, fine, I trust you with my life, okay?" Ron snapped. "What about it?"

"Then bloody shut it, get in here, and close the fucking door," Malfoy hissed with impatience.

When they had done so, he opened the letter, read it through, and signed the bottom, handing it to them to sign as witnesses. As they did, the parchment glowed and vanished, undoubtedly to reappear in some secret file in the bowels of the Ministry.

"I have now officially taken the oath of office," Malfoy announced. "Weasley, you already know some of this; Finnegan, this case is being treated with the highest level of classification. What we know is that Harry Potter was killed at around seven this evening in an attack on his home that has left his wife in critical condition at St. Mungo's. I discovered the scene myself."

"Ginny was home? Oh, bloody hell," Seamus exclaimed.

"What were you doing there?" Ron asked, surprised; this was new information.

"I was there in response to this note, which is hereby entered into evidence," Malfoy replied, producing the dinner invitation, and watched the others pale as they read it. "Potter believed someone inside this department couldn't be trusted, which means I need to be very careful whom I trust, as do you."

They all paused for a moment, Ron and Seamus processing that information.

"Fucking hell," Seamus breathed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"Potter got onto something and got killed for it," Malfoy confirmed.

"So you think it was someone in the department that killed him?" Ron asked bitterly. "I'll bloody kill them myself, whoever it is."

"Either that, or the person or persons who have been receiving inside information," Malfoy replied, "as to which, by the way, I still don't know what information was supposedly leaked. Potter never got that far, so we're going to have to comb his files until we find something. We need people on this first thing when the scene is cleared."

Malfoy hesitated, knowing the last would be the most difficult piece of information for them to accept.

"There is one last thing: when I arrived on the scene, someone had already put up the Dark Mark over the house."

Finnegan swore vehemently as Ron stared at Malfoy across the desk that had, only hours ago, belonged to Harry.

"And they put you in charge?" he asked incredulously. "It's bloody mental!"

"At least you're willing to come out and say it," Malfoy muttered. "Potter trusted me with this, Merlin knows why. Kingsley Shacklebolt has chosen to uphold that trust. I am asking you to do the same."

"You've got mine," Seamus said unexpectedly as they both stared at him. "If Harry said so, it's good enough for me. And we all know that if you were trying to cover your own tracks, the last thing you'd be doing is trying to bring us closer where we could see what you were up to."

"Yeah… yeah, he's got a point," Ron sighed finally. "Fine, I trust you. But what are we going to do about this?"

"You said you trust Finnegan?"

"Yeah, I do," Ron replied.

"Then I want him posted on your sister's door through the night. We'll figure out someone to replace him in the morning. I suspect we'll know a great deal better where we stand by then, but in the meantime I don't want to take any chances someone might come around to finish the job. Finnegan, see to it that at least one of the Weasleys is with her son at all times, while you're at it. I don't think he's at risk since whomever hit the house wasn't looking for him very hard but there's no sense taking a chance. And Finnegan, you don't breathe a word of what you've been told tonight, understood?"

"Yes, sir," Seamus replied as he departed for the hospital.

"The Dark Mark," Ron murmured, sinking weakly into the chair opposite the desk. "So it's Death Eaters again, after all these years."

"Maybe," Malfoy admitted grudgingly. "It certainly felt like a Death Eater attack, but I haven't heard of anyone from the old days being active in that kind of thing. And believe me, I would know."

"Yeah… I guess you would," Ron replied. "They'd have tried to recruit you, to have someone inside the Ministry, wouldn't they?"

"And likely killed me if they couldn't turn me," Malfoy added.

"Making it all the more suspicious that you're alive," Ron said, a light smirk playing on his face.

"We both know you don't believe that," Malfoy stated. "If you thought for even a second that I was involved in Potter's death, you'd have done a lot more than knock me down in the hallway at St. Mungo's."

"Er… about that. I'm not going to be sacked, am I?" Ron asked. "Because I've got a wife at home and a baby on the way, you know, and I didn't rightly know you were my boss at the time…"

"You married Granger, didn't you?" Malfoy asked. When Ron nodded, he continued. "I don't think I need to do much of anything about it. You know you'll end up telling her eventually, and then there'll be no end to the nagging about how you _could _have been sacked and it was so very irresponsible, and how now that I'm your boss you have no choice but to listen to me. It'll me so much _worse _than getting sacked, on top of which I won't be left an Auror short."

"Oh gods. I changed my mind. Fire me. No, better yet, obliviate me and leave me in the loony bin, will you?" Ron sighed miserably.

"Don't tempt me, Weasley," Malfoy sneered as he coaxed Harry's file cabinet into unlocking for him. It finally submitted to his authority on the third try.

After that, the night was spent combing through Harry's personal files. There were too many case files in the department to go through them all on their own, especially since they didn't know what they were looking for, but the material Potter had felt was important enough to keep in his office was bound to be the most sensitive. If he'd actually written whatever it was down anywhere, at least; it was completely possible he'd intended to keep it unofficial, in which case there might not be a written record on the subject of any kind, anywhere.

At two in the morning, Ron fell asleep, slumped over the desk with his face in a case file, and Malfoy chose to leave him to it. There wasn't much else to be done until Longbottom finished at the crime scene. Exhausted though he was from the rescue, the sheer adrenaline that had coursed through him while he had moved through the house kept him awake; Ron hadn't had that, and it had to be a wearying thing to worry over a badly injured relative while grieving the loss of someone as close to him as Potter had been.

Malfoy didn't have anyone that close to him. His losses had already been grieved, and at least his parents hadn't lived to witness the shameful state in which Astoria had left him. There was some mercy in such small favors, he supposed.

As it was, he badly wanted a drink, but that would have to wait.

xxxxx

With dawn came the Minister's announcement that Harry Potter was dead, killed in an attack by assailants that remained unknown. He gave his word that top people were working on it – Malfoy scoffed at this as it came over the wireless, as the choice of Aurors working the case was essentially a minefield to sort out – and beseeched the public to be dutiful to their society and remain calm.

The public didn't listen.

By the time Malfoy finished sifting through preliminary evidence reports and handing out duty assignments, it had all begun to fall apart. There were riots and sporadic outbursts of lesser violence, as well as several suicide attempts and a few successes. The only thing good that came of it was that in the days of unrest that followed, the magical law enforcement offices across the nation responded with exceptional preparedness. Malfoy made a note to recommend Jaansen for a commendation, assuming he didn't turn out to be the leak.

The evidence reports had turned up nothing. There had been no witnesses; Malfoy had himself arrived too late to see anything of importance, and it became increasingly clear that unless they found some shred of evidence, even a suggestion of a direction to take the case, the investigation was going to hinge entirely on what Ginevra Potter had to say when she woke up.

When they arrived at St. Mungo's, they found that chaos awaited them. Hurt, angry, desperate people were everywhere; mostly it was being managed, though the hospital's resources were clearly being stretched thin. One man, apparently believing he had been waiting too long to be seen, would not be calmed, and, seizing upon a healer's wand, had attempted to fire hexes at random into the waiting throng, and Malfoy had been obligated to draw his wand and drop the bastard where he stood so that order could be restored. To the gentleman's benefit, his place in line advanced considerably as a result.

Seamus Finnegan's presence in Ginny's ward had left that area relatively calm, and he was dismissed on their arrival to assist in the larger issues plaguing the hospital on the understanding that one of Ginny's older brothers would be arriving soon to watch over her. The war had left each of the Weasleys as capable as any Auror.

Malfoy didn't know what drew him into the room; curiosity perhaps, or some sense of responsibility for the life he'd saved. Possibly even concern. It was his job to take an interest in her well-being; she was a part of his case now, the _living _part. Whatever resolution he could bring about in the matter of Harry Potter's death would benefit the whole of the wizarding world, but not nearly so much as it would benefit Harry Potter's widow.

In any case, Ron had asked him to wait there briefly while he went to consult his parents, who were checking James out of the hospital with a clean bill of health, intent on taking the boy home to what Malfoy hoped would be relative safety. Malfoy, against his better judgment, entered the room.

The room was not brightly lit, though not dark; bright enough for the healers to do their work, but dimmed restfully to promote an aura of calm. Malfoy had not seen Ginny since she was taken from his side upon arrival at the hospital the night before; she had been cleaned and cared for, her skin no longer obscured by clotting blood and fallen ash. Her external wounds had been bandaged, her internal injuries treated to the best of the healers' abilities, and now, only time assisted by healing magic would tell.

For all that, she looked no better. While the blood had been cleaned away, her skin was marred by livid purple bruises, interrupted by the bandages that covered a myriad of gashes and cuts. Where her skin was not bruised, it was pale as death; her face seemed gray and bloodless, as was the hand that lay limp upon the bed, left there by whomever had held it last. Malfoy remembered clearly that hand, outstretched against the floor as though reaching for her son, without which the boy might have been overlooked and left behind in the burning remnants of his home.

Malfoy repressed a shudder at the memory. If he closed his eyes, he could relive in vivid detail and perfect clarity every step he took through the house, and he would do so when necessary in the course of the investigation, but he did not want to do it now, while looking at her.

Already he could imagine all too easily how it had played out; Potter killed in the initial wave of the attack, probably didn't know what hit him, and Ginevra running to the nursery. Was it maternal instinct that drove her to protect her son? Was it simply that she was closer to him than to her husband? Or was it that, in the aftermath of that first strike, she had already known Harry was beyond help, and had run to protect what she still had left?

He could only guess at that point; those details would be filled in if possible when she woke. What seemed clear, however, was that once in the nursery, she had stunned her son and hidden him, tucked away under his crib, a desperate gamble but obviously one she considered the best chance at keeping him alive. Then the door had been blasted in, possibly before she'd managed to stand, and she'd taken a blow from part of the blasting curse used, knocking her down and delivering the bruises that were now horribly evident. And then, her attacker had cursed her with some obscure dark magic, whether to end her life along with Potter's or to toy with her like a cat with a mouse, nearly killing her even as it ended the life she unknowingly carried within her body before it had a chance to really begin.

It made him feel sick and angry; it was the kind of thing he'd never had the stomach for in those brief, horrible days when he had followed the Dark Lord, whose mark still lingered on his skin as a permanent reminder of his misdeeds. Whether it was truly an attack by resurgent Death Eaters was a matter for the investigation, but whatever the case proved to be, there was clearly dark wizard involvement, for no one else could be so ruthless, so savage, and the spells used…

Malfoy would find them. There would be no justice for the things the woman lying broken in the bed before him had lost, not in any meaningful sense, but he would do what he could.

She shifted slightly, not enough, he hoped, to worsen her injuries, but it was the low, whimpering moan she uttered that sent him into a hall to flag down the healer; it was the same rather irritable one from the night before, no doubt pulling a double shift in the wake of the civil unrest that had flooded the hospital.

"It was good you came and got me," the healer said, waving her wand over Ginny's body. "She's been doing this, fighting the sedation spell, but it's too soon. Healing is a process, and so is the miscarriage, and we're aiming to keep her under for both… it's just that she's incredibly strong-willed."

"You mean the miscarriage isn't over with?" he asked, brow furrowed.

"It varies. The initial incident in this case was fairly sudden, and she was barely a few weeks along so there hasn't been much for her body to do, but it still needs to recover. Think of it as resetting itself, which is increasingly difficult for it to do since the rest of her isn't functioning as it should."

Another whimper, and Ginny's fingers flexed.

"She's dreaming, we think; we don't know of what, but it could well be that whatever it is, it's what's driving her to try to wake. She needs a few more days, but we're hoping she'll show the same spirit when we need her to. In the meantime, it seems to calm her when someone's with her. You could hold her hand if you wish."

"I'm not someone for whom she has any particular fondness," he replied.

"You saved her life, didn't you?"

"It was my job, same as it is yours. Besides, she doesn't know that."

"We have no way of knowing what she knows. Only time will tell," the healer shrugged and made her way out of the room.

It was true that Ginevra Potter, formerly Ginny Weasley, formerly the Weasley girl in his days at Hogwarts, had no great liking for him. He couldn't imagine she felt anything but dislike toward him after their school years, and their contact since had been incidental since then; the odd Ministry function, if he was invited; the odd Christmas party, if he bothered to go. Astoria had enjoyed rubbing elbows with his superiors in a way that he didn't particularly, at least at first, before she figured out he'd never be one of them. Although he essentially was now, come to think of it, even if the position was on a temporary basis until the case was resolved. Perhaps if it was resolved favorably, it wouldn't be that temporary after all.

Not that he was sure he wanted it, seeing where it had gotten Potter.

No, he doubted very much that Ginevra Potter wanted anything to do with him, especially now, though he would see the case through for her sake most of all, but also for his own. If he did, maybe he would one day be able to forget what she looked like here, in this hospital room, battered, bruised, and torn inside in more ways than one, and what she had looked like in the ruins of her house, the home that had housed her life with Potter, both gone to ash that had fallen in soft flakes upon her deathly-pale hand.

That hand flexed again, fingers stretching and curling as though reaching for something, and he recalled what the healer had said, that she liked it when someone held her hand, that she knew they were there with her. He knew he wasn't the person she would want; likely, even her parents and brothers were not the person she was reaching for. That person would not come, his body presently at rest in a room in the Department of Mysteries, the only place deemed appropriately secure to perform the necessary post-mortem examinations.

But he, Draco Malfoy, was here, and that hand haunted him, and he moved to her bedside and took it in his own as he sat. Her fingers were cool to the touch, even to his touch which was not known for being warm; even Astoria had said so when he touched her. He was a cold person, physically and emotionally, it seemed, but while his was just a natural state of being, Ginny Potter's coldness felt unnatural indeed, a lingering remnant from her brush with death.

Her fingers curled gently around his. The room was relaxingly dim, calm and silent indeed, but for the sound of Ginny's shallow, rasping breaths, and even those were at least reassuringly regular. Malfoy thought he might chance, just for a moment, resting his head on the edge of the bed while he dutifully held her hand as he waited for her brother to come back, seeing as it had been a long and rather arduous night, and before he could think on it further, the world slipped away.

For the first time in his adult, working life, while the wizarding world shuddered in chaos around him, Draco Malfoy fell asleep on the job.

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><p><strong>AN: ****So, finally some Draco/Ginny. It's hard to write a character who's unconscious, you know? If you liked this chapter, please review and let me know!  
><strong>

**My thanks to hannah askance, rainbowwizard1, Dippy x Lor xx, angelale8, purple389, Greenstuff, and Crazy Girl Writer for reviewing the last chapter!**


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